


Be careful what you wish for...

by love2imagine



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2imagine/pseuds/love2imagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to Live Feed, episode 5.10 of White Collar. Lots of spoilers for No Good Deed and Live Feed and some others.</p><p>White Collar and it's characters do not belong to me, created by Jeff Eastin. This is for fun. (Sort of.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initially written as a single, stand-alone chapter. Then chapter three was added, then chapter two as people wondered and, of course, I did too. But they read best, I believe, as they are ordered here...but can be read as stand-alones.

 

 

 

 

 

Neal had been called into Peter’s office. Peter was seated, his mouth like a snapped steel trap. Neal did not sit, nor was he invited to. It was an ugly office that day. Never had it looked so cold and uninviting.

Peter updated him, “The coins are in a safety deposit box at a bank downtown. Andrew Dawson no longer works for the department of justice.”

 “What about you?”

 Peter shrugged a little. “I'm still here.”

 Slightly more hopeful, Neal pointed out, “Look, you arrested a dangerous fence, recovered the gold, took down a dirty prosecutor. It's a win.”

 Peter was having none of it. His voice hardened as he shook his head. “It's a compromise, one I will never make again. I know why you did what you did.”

Neal, his heart falling, said, “Yeah. To help my friend.”

 The expression on Peter’s face was one of frustration, anger and disappointment. He corrected, “And because you're a criminal, and you can't help yourself. Shame on me for expecting anything else. Things are gonna change for the both of us.”

 During these sentences, Neal’s blue eyes scanned the floor, accessing memories sadly, wondering how Peter could have changed (was that me?), realising that everything that had gone before, every trust and friendly touch – everything, between them, anything that meant something to him, well…perhaps he had imagined it all. Perhaps he had been played. His voice and facial expression hardened in response to his grief. He wouldn’t let Burke see. Never. He agreed, his tone barbed.

“Yeah. It's time they did.”

 

 

 

 

Peter had never been at odds with himself as he was now…even at odds with Elizabeth, who could see things from Neal’s point of view, who could rationalize the theft, the lies, the corruption – because she still had him, Peter, and believed, with no proof, that Peter was innocent. The way a court would not.

 

He was innocent of Pratt’s murder. But not what had happened next.

 

He ran the next morning, as though to run away from his life, none of which made sense any longer. Or become so exhausted that the feelings were dulled. This was all Neal’s fault! He had known who he was, what he did, what was right and wrong…and then he’d taken on this pretty-boy CI with the golden tongue and the flawed morality and now all the pieces of his life had come apart, become warped, and none of them fit together any longer. He wasn’t sure if they ever would. Voices swarmed in his brain like drunken, angry bees.

 

 **_You robbed a vault under my watch_ ** **.**

  
_I can explain._

  
**_Don't you dare try to justify it._**

  
_Did it for you!_

_ Why should we lose everything?  _

**_What does it say about me if I let this go?_ **

**_Neal, you robbed a vault under my watch._ **

_  
\- I can explain._

**_ Don't _ ** **_! Don't you dare try to justify what you did! I put myself out on the line for you, all the time! I helped your father. I was charged for murder because of it. _ **

**_  
\- Don't!_ **

**_  
Don't you dare try to justify what you did._ **

**_I put myself out on the line for you all the time! \- I nearly lost everything-- - _ **

_I did it for you! Make sure Dawson has authenticated the confession._  
  
I did the right thing.

_  
**No, it isn't right.**_

_  
**What does it say about me if I let this go? That's not justice.**_

_  
You're - you're innocent._

_  
\- I did the right thing._

_  
\- Why should we lose everything? _

__

**_None of this right._ **

_  
**Things are gonna change.**_

 

 

Then his cell rang and Peter was told he had the Section Chief position in DC. If anything, this news made his head ring like a gong struck once too often. It made everything more urgent and even more corrupt.

 

 

Jones had a file for Peter. He knew his boss was upset; he didn’t like it. Jones was a straight-up kind of guy, pretty simple…he didn’t like emotional stuff in the workplace, and he especially didn’t like to see this happen to one of the agents he respected most in the world. It was one of the reasons he was glad he was single, glad he lived a circumscribed life. Because it wasn’t just that an order might be missed, or a message not delivered, or a client lost. In this job, there was always the potential for violence, and one slip, one second of less-than-perfect attention could mean that someone died.

 Jones also believed that Peter and his wife knew these things and seldom argued for that very reason…or perhaps that wasn’t the reason, but it made sense! Peter had been less fun to be around before Caffrey, on the whole, but when they were at outs they could drag whole skies full of thunder-clouds into the work environment and everyone close to them had to struggle to be on their normal game. It wasn’t fair.

 Perhaps this would heal the present breach! “Potential art forgery at the Sullivan Auction House,” he said, hopefully. “Figured it'd be the perfect assignment for you and Caffrey.”

  
No luck. For the first time since Jones had met Caffrey, he heard Peter say, “You and I can take care of it.”

 Jones should have been pleased to be Number Two on this. He'd often felt a little side-lined by Caffrey and Diana. But the whole argument still held. Jones had to try something! He lowered his voice to a confidential tone and said, “Can we talk?”

 “What's on your mind?” Peter asked, but it seemed he had to try and care!

 “Well, I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“I'm fine.”

  
Jones had to wonder if he should have started this, but – yeah, _lives at stake_. And it wasn’t right that this good man wasn’t happy. “Yeah, sure, you're fine, until I mention Caffrey's name. Then, you look like you wanna punch a hole through the wall.”

“It's not that obvious, is it?”

 “Not to anyone else here, but I've known the both of you long enough to tell when something's up.” _Diana would have noticed, that’s for sure. Probably would have said something sooner._ _Wish she was here._ “Look, I don't know what happened, and I'm not gonna ask, but I just think it's time to end the cycle.”

 “Cycle?” Peter looked confused.

“Yeah. You know, the one where Neal does something wrong, finds a way to justify it, and puts you in the hot seat as a result.”

“So it **_is_** that obvious.” Peter was disgusted with himself – with the whole situation. When Jones could read him like a billboard – yeah, as he’d said to Caffrey, something had got to change and radically. _How’d I ever get in this deep? Trusted him too much? Coloured outside the lines once too often? And even if I get away with this, move on to D.C., it could come back to bite me at any time. Damn Caffrey!_

“Well, Peter, you have an opportunity few agents in this bureau ever see, and you should have moved on to it by now. I mean, you've let one CI hold you back long enough.”

“I have a few loose ends here that need tying up.”

“I'm all for tying up loose ends, as long as they aren't Caffrey.

            “And Peter, you — you always take responsibility for him, but maybe it's time he starts taking responsibility for himself. That's all I wanna say.”

 

Neither of them knew that Neal had come in early, wanting to speak to Peter, and heard every word from outside the door. Neal slipped away unseen, his heart thumping, a reaction out of all proportion to the actual words Jones had spoken. He had hoped if he had a chance to explain to Peter once the man had calmed down…but it wasn’t just Peter. It was the whole office. All they had ever seen was _Peter_ saving _him,_ the irresponsible child. That's all he would ever be.

 

Change something around here...Hagen...the problem was Hagen. Hagen only wanted _him._ Hagen only had something on _him._ Mozzie loved Elizabeth, but he would never have put his neck in a noose for either of the Married Suits. Hagen didn’t know about June. He, Neal, was the lynch-pin. Remove him, and Hagen wouldn’t have anything to hold onto. He’d warn Mozzie and Mozzie would be gone before Hagen knew what had happened. June had contacts from Byron’s days that would look after her if it came to that, but Hagen had wanted his, Neal’s, expertise. Hagen wanted revenge on _him_. Hagen wanted him on a leash, and dancing to his tune - and when he didn't need him any more Hagen would hand in the evidence and get Neal locked up, Neal had always known it. If Neal was taken out of the equation…

 

 

Jones left Peter’s office and it was only about ten minutes later that there was a clipped knock and Neal walked in without waiting to be asked.

 “What do you want?” Peter demanded, darkly, hostility vibrating in his voice. “I didn’t tell you to come in to the office today.”

 “No, but I came to tell you I agree with you. Things have got to change.”

 “You didn’t need to —” Peter was filled with resentment for his life being in ruins, not even allowing him to rejoice in the promotion. He had made an appointment with Elizabeth, to tell her - and he could predict with accuracy that she would be thrilled, but he couldn’t feel anything but guilt and shame, and that made him furious.

 “I did. Let me talk, it’s important.”

 Peter sat back. Perhaps Neal had a real explanation, or was genuinely sorry. Would that make him feel better? Probably not. Neal could fake regret as he could fake anything else. That’s why he could never trust him.

 Seeing that Peter was going to give him a chance to talk, Neal sat on the edge of the guest's chair and went on, “Remember Dr Summers?”

Peter’s face registered some confusion. “The crooked doctor? Of course! Why - ?”

 “She told me I would always be a criminal. That I was a sociopath.”

 “Oh, for heaven’s sake - !”

 “You know it’s true, Peter. Everything she said. You’ve read what sociopaths do, who they are. I fit most of the profile. It isn’t something that can be cured.”

 “I suppose because some Vogue article says that sociopaths are charming - ”

 “I _am_ charming. I can lie to anyone. I lied to _Mozzie_ and he didn’t know _._ I don’t feel remorse. I enjoy my crimes, I enjoy outwitting other people. I can tell people the most inventive lies and they believe me.”

 “You’re not over sexed, are you? Unless you’ve been sleeping with far more people than I know about!”

 “Guess not all sociopaths fit the entire profile. I am not sexually deviant, either, but every other indicator…and you’re right. I'm a criminal, I have broken the law and with all my charm and all my lies I haven’t got one friend here. I just wrote a confession, texted it to the only phone Moz has – and not in his name – that accepts text messages. In case I lose my copy. And printed one out, signed it.”

 “Confession about what?” Peter tried to sound assertive, but for the first time doubt crept into his tone.

 “About the gold coins. What I told you, when you tricked me into confessing to you.”

 “B-but - ”

 “I know. I’m sorry about Elizabeth. But you are going to end up hating her if we keep this secret, you know. It was because of her that I…did what I did. And if I don’t do this, it could always come back to bite you. It’ll haunt you forever, your whole life. You were born to be a straight arrow.”

 “She told me she’d asked you to do something…”

 “There you are. Let’s change things around here, Peter. Let’s break the cycle. I’ll give you a day to explain it all to Elizabeth, make some plans for her future. Then we can put everything right. I didn't include the fact that you knew, that would make you an accessory after the fact. I know you just did that for me. You can have your trial, without a crooked prosecutor this time, and the felon who messed up your life will be back where he belongs. Forever. Um – I probably won’t come in again. I’ll go to a police station and hand myself in. Or call the Marshals. Say good-bye to everyone for me, would you?” He stood. His face was without expression, still, almost inhuman.

 “Good-bye, Peter,” he said, without emotion, turned and left.

 

 

 

 

 

The End....! of Chapter 1, as it turns out! Peer pressure!!!

 

Wrote something in a reply to a comment and had to write this. It's an obvious alternate, but I couldn't find anyone who had written it. And look - it's short! Not sweet, but short.


	2. Be careful to whom you tell your wishes...especially if they have the power to make them come true.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And those left behind... 
> 
>  
> 
> Written and added after the third chapter, but it fits in here. June and Elizabeth join in, with a minor but important part played by Bugsy

 

 

 

 

Peter sat staring at the blank, unresponsive door that Neal had closed behind him. The fury that had sustained him since Neal had first confessed abruptly drained away. His chest hurt. If someone had held a gun to his head he couldn’t have moved or spoken to save his life…to save _El’s_ life!

 

The silence stretched, became bow-tight. It came to him: _what life?_

He had no answer.

 

After a time, long or short he couldn’t have guessed, a probie knocked on the door and put her head in to say, “Agent Burke? You should be leaving for your appointment, Sir.”

 

“Oh, yes…yes. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

She looked at him strangely, and asked, “Is everything okay, Sir?”

 

Peter nodded, didn’t manage a smile, and she withdrew. She hadn’t ever seen a Senior Agent look like that.

 

 _Lost._ She felt pleased with herself for identifying the expression.

 

Peter made it to his feet, and stumbled a little, walking over to get his jacket. He had to concentrate to find his keys, which he dropped twice, and his phone: all those unconsciously competent actions he took for granted were suddenly demanding his full attention. His feet felt as though they were not making good contact with the ground. He recognised the symptoms.

 

 _Shock._ Identifying it didn’t make it more acceptable, nor more pleasant.

 

As he settled his seat-belt, he wondered if he should be driving at all. But what possible excuse could he give for asking for a driver?

 

 _“My CI just kicked me in the groin. Hard.”_ No, that wasn’t going to work.

 

Once he was on the road, he started to try and think clearly. What on earth was he going to tell El? Could he stop Neal? That was his best chance.

 

_What do I say to him? Oh, God, what do I **say?** ‘Neal, I **do** want you to lie for me?’ Then how do I explain the way I’ve been treating him?_

“It’s a con,” Peter said aloud. “He’d never go back to prison. Not to get back at me, not to…make things better for me.” _How typical of Neal that I can’t tell which of two polar opposites this is! Why don’t I admit it: I have never got to know this man._

 

His instinct was to go to Neal, try and find out what was going on. But El would be waiting for him by now… _wait! Let **El** go to Neal! They always had a better understanding. Perhaps contact Mozzie. Mozzie won’t let Neal go back in a cell for a principle, especially mine!_

**At about this time, Hagen received a phone call from the burner phone. Rebecca’s voice came scathingly down the line, “Hagen! You called me three times to tell me that some slender dark-haired man in a good suit was approaching you! Each time I have to run to my cell and get into position and into the rôle, only to have you call and tell me it was a false alarm.**

**“Has Neal contacted you? Where _is_ he!”**

**“I don’t _know!”_ came back the blue-collar English voice, and she could imagine his face, screwed up in frustration. It almost made her want to smile, except she really, _really_ didn’t like plans that went awry! She was compulsive that way. And she didn’t trust Hagen not to act like a rabid dog if he didn’t get his own way – which was hurting Neal. “He’s supposed to be here, he’s an hour late! - bringing me the window as an exchange for the dope I have on him – which he has to get or he’s put away and all that lovely comfort he’s been living in goes away! Back in a cell, like he put me in. I made him get the whole window so I can get the little runt, too.”**

**Rebecca wanted the treasure, but she’d grown fond of Neal, very fond of Neal. And Mozzie, too. She respected them both. In fact, there had been several times that she felt like flipping on Hagen and working with the two of them. She would have done it in a second if she could accurately predict their reactions to this revelation. Hagen was dangerous and small-minded. So her lip curled, but Hagen couldn’t see.**

**“We have to have him see you ‘kidnapped’ so they help us once we find the secret hidden in the Codex. We know he was addicted to secrets and codes and puzzles. They are – Mozzie is especially – very good at this kind of thing, and they will be super motivated when they get a gander at their pretty friend in harm’s way!”**

**“You’ve said that. So you know Neal cares about…me?”**

**“Neal cares about people. It’s his one huge weakness, sweetheart. And Mozzie cares about him, so we’ll have them both!”**

**“Perhaps there’s been an accident?”**

**“There will be, if they don’t show soon!”**

**Rebecca wondered if she really needed him any more. No class, no common sense. Good forger, but she didn’t need a forger any more. She’s already put plans in play to remove him – but if that was discovered before Neal and Mozzie took Hagen the window…**

**Rebecca broke the connection. The timing had been tight, there was no room for accidents, Neal having second thoughts – whatever had happened to stop them showing up to claim the recording of Neal stealing the gold.**

**“I think I’ll just go and collect the Codex, and get the evidence Hagen had on Neal. Which is what I should have done in the first place! Hagen was always the weakness, him and his idiotic revenge, and now he’s under pressure, he’s liable to do something stupid. I want the treasure, and I’d prefer Neal and Mozzie weren’t in prison and Hagen was. Or dead, he got out before…”**

Peter parked the car badly, and hurried down the paths. All at once he just wanted to get to El, to feel her warmth, her embrace. It was, he recognised, horribly like a hurt little boy needing his mother.

 

El was sitting on their favourite bench overlooking the water, and stood as she saw him coming, her face alight with expectation – till she got a good look at him, and her expression changed to that of alarm. He almost ran the last few steps as she came towards him, and enveloped her in his arms.

 

El, feeling the trembling in a man who took down bad guys for a living, demanded, “What is it, Hon?” He said nothing, but the breath he drew sounded like a sob. She reacted with the only thought that came to mind in this situation, since she was safe. She asked, sharply, “Neal? Is Neal hurt? What’s happened? Peter – is Neal - ”

 

“Nothing,” Peter said, his voice muffled. “He’s not hurt or anything, I mean. Hasn’t been shot.”

 

“Diana?” she hazarded as a next best guess. There just weren’t that many people who could cause Peter to behave like this, like a child seeing his puppy run over. He had always tried to seem strong and in control. She’d **_never_** seen him like this!

 

He drew back, taking strength from her, and shook his head. “No, it isn’t anything like that.”

 

“Tell me, Hon. We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.” She led him to the bench and they sat half-facing each other. He looked at the picnic basket she’d brought…expensive finger-food, a half-bottle of Leblond-Lenoir, tulip glasses, pretty napkins…. She saw his look. “I – I thought we were celebrating. I thought Bruce called…I didn’t know….”

 

“Bruce called. I got the job, but that’s not going to matter now.”

 

El did what El usually did: she took a deep breath and set her jaw, straightened her back. She had a strong belief that if they faced it together, everything would turn out just fine. She saw that her husband’s fingers were shaking. “Tell me, Hon.”

 

 _How the hell do I tell her this is the last lunch we may have together?_ Peter scanned her pretty face, her beautiful blue eyes, her kissable mouth. _I won’t be able to kiss her after tomorrow._

El took his hand and squeezed. “Tell me!” The panic in his eyes was scaring her.

 

Peter took a deep breath. “Neal came into the office today.”

 

He seemed to get stuck, so El, her head a little on one side, puzzled, asked, “In what way…”

 

“I told him to stay home. I don’t want to see him, can’t think how to work with him.”

 

“But, Hon, I thought you’d made peace with what he did for you.”

 

Peter looked over the river. He swallowed. El said, “Oooh…you haven’t made peace with **_him._**

“Look, Hon, just tell me everything. What has been going on between you two?”

 

Peter got out in a rush, “I told him things had to change. Between us, that it wasn’t a good thing he did, that it wasn’t justice, that I would never, ever allow anything like that again. I told him to leave. I let him see how angry, how disgusted I was. Y-yesterday.”

 

“With _him?”_ El wanted to shake him, but that was Peter. By-the-book. Couldn’t see what Neal had risked for him by stealing that gold. “You were disgusted with _Neal?”_

 

“With what he did – well, of course…”

 

“What exactly did you say, Peter!”

 

“I told him what I’d done – I told you, got the prosecutor to resign, placed the coins in safe-keeping - ?” She nodded. “And he said that it was a win, that we’d arrested a fence who sold guns – true enough – and got rid of a corrupt official, recovered the gold. That it was a _win!”_ Peter breathed. “I was so furious. I figured I’d taught him something over the years, and he still counts this as a win.”

 

“I think the real win was that you are here, free, Hon, that’s probably what he meant…go on.”

 

“I told him I knew why he did what he did. He said to help – to help a friend.” Peter paused again, swallowed. “I said that because he was a criminal, and couldn’t help himself, he had to do it this way, and shame on me for expecting him to be anything different.” He looked at his shoes, miserably.

 

“Peter!” El’s voice was shocked, now. “You said that to _Neal?”_

 

Peter reacted defensively, “It’s true, Hon!”

 

Elizabeth tried to be calm, to be constructive. “I don’t think that’s ever the way to handle Neal. I know he goes at things differently, but what else could he have done, Peter?”

 

“Something…something not criminal.”

 

“You do know that Diana and Jones and a bunch of other people were doing the legal stuff and you were still about to be indicted? The next _day,_ Peter!” _I’m not helping. Handle the problem we have now._ “So you say he’s all right, not hurt or dead – so he’s disappeared? You can’t find him?”

 

“No, no – God, that would be such a relief right now, if that was all it was!”

 

El looked at him in horror. “Then what has happened, Peter!”

 

“He came in this morning. The last thing I said to him yesterday – was it only yesterday? - was that things were going to have to change. Well – I meant, and he knew it, that things were going to have to change between us, that his behaviour would have to change.

         “Today he came in and agreed, said he was a sociopath – that doctor told him that – and that I was born to be a straight arrow and – and that he’s written a confession about the gold coins, leaving my knowledge of it out of it, and that he gave me 24 hours to tell you, do some planning, and then he’ll give himself up – the confession will be thrown out - and I can have a trial without a corrupt prosecutor.”

 

“Peter!”

 

He forced himself to look at her, and her eyes, her lovely eyes, were huge and stricken and her colour was gone.

 

“I’m sorry, Hon.”

 

“B-but if you’re indicted, you’re out of the FBI forever, even if you beat the evidence, and from what I understa – no, you’ll beat the evidence. But…”

 

They sat in silence, each borne down by scurrying, dread-filled thoughts of worst-possible scenarios.

 

El sat up and spoke first, her voice strong and determined. “He won’t do it to you – to me. Neal would never do that. He’s loved you and been loyal and trusted you – and you him. Perhaps he was just mouthing off, angry because of your reaction to what he did.

         “I think you really hurt him, Hon. I think he was working on not being a criminal, he wanted to make you proud, but then he had no idea _what_ to do – it was his smarts against a corrupt, criminal prosecutor! And I pushed him over the edge.”

 

Peter shook his head and looked straight at her. “You didn’t see the look on his face. Neal’s changed, Hon. You’re remembering the bright young kid with his scruffy hair and his guileless blue eyes, sitting on our couch, petting our dog, bragging that he knew who the Dutchman was. Or the smiling, charming man with the beautiful suits, the tie-bars and the perfectly shone shoes giving you advice on caviar!

         “The man in my office today was cold and heartless and – like stone. Telling me without emotion that he was a sociopath, that he was a felon and should be inside forever. The way he said good-bye…” Peter remembered, and tears moistened his eyes. “He said with all his lies and all his charm he didn’t have one friend in the office.”

 

There was another extended silence and El asked, “You made him think you weren’t his friend?”

 

Peter looked away. “I was so angry. Felt so bad that I was free because my CI, the man I thought I was moulding to be a good person, stole and bribed and falsified evidence. Not free because the system I work for had worked for me. Because of a whole lot of criminal acts. By someone I considered a friend…but he didn’t know me at all! How can he be my friend – how can I be his – with that level of misunderstanding between us?”

 

This time El didn’t speak for so long that he looked across at her, and his eyebrows went up enquiringly. She said, softly, “But – but then you asked him to do exactly what he did, Peter!” Peter’s brow furrowed and she went on, “The original prosecutor, Dobson - ?”

 

“Dawson.”

 

“Dawson – you know he was corrupt, and he’s been forced to resign. Because of you and Neal working – well, not together, consecutively. So now you have at least a chance at a fair trial.”

 

The words that leapt to Peter’s lips were that he didn’t want a trial at all, but that – if Neal hadn’t – “I didn’t want him to go to prison for the rest of his life – **_never_** , El!”

 

“You told him that he was a criminal and that you should never have expected anything else from him. That – sorry, Hon! – that sounds as though you took away all his hope.”

 

“I didn’t mean to do that – I was just angry - ”

 

“Can we fix this? Did you try and call him back, talk to him?”

 

“He left. I was…I couldn’t think. I never expected…he’s always avoided any consequences, ducked responsibility.”

 

“Well, no, that’s not quite true, Peter.

         “When he broke out for Kate, and she had left, he waited for you, didn’t he? Stuart Gless told me that Neal tried to apologise for forging his bonds, and he certainly put himself, his life, on the line to get Lindsay back, didn’t he?

         “He told you about stealing the Girl with the Locket portrait, not because _he_ was in danger, but because that gallery buyer was in danger because of him. And you could have thrown him back for that…he’s too clever not to know that. We didn’t have a real friendship then, yet …” She stopped, realising that the friendship was over, broken – or it had never existed. She tried to think – had it all been a long con on Neal’s part? No, no conman steals gold coins, risks prison, and gives them away to save a partner whom he knows will hate him for it when he finds out! That’s conning taken to absurdity!

 

“I guess I never saw those…” Peter sat, his hands hanging between his knees.

 

El snapped, exasperated, “That’s only the tip of the iceberg! I think there may be a lot of things you didn’t see.

         “Neal and Mozzie have done far more for us than your deal demanded, over the years, and very often they were a little iffy or downright wrong, legally, and many times you’ve looked the other way because some bad guy went to prison or some innocent was saved. Isn’t that right?”

         Peter didn’t answer, but she went on anyway, “How do you think he knew that getting his friend out of prison, a man he believed to be innocent because he knew him for all these years, was going to be your sticking point, that you wouldn’t accept it? And this on top of him losing is father – again - probably forever.”

        

Peter muttered, “I guess I was just looking at this from my point of view. I never thought about all of that once I knew what he’d done.”

 

“And even then – you told me he put his hands out for the cuffs, didn’t he? And then he told you to think of me…”

 

“But I thought he was trying to get out of being thrown back in prison!”

 

“He was pretty sure that you’d stick to your guns, wasn’t he? When you left? That you just wanted to talk to me and warn me? **_I_** thought you weren’t going to do anything else but turn him and yourself in, when we talked that night.”

 

“Yes…”

 

“So, he just stayed at June’s? He thought you were going to send him back to prison, and anyway, be indicted yourself so the deal would be off - and he stayed. Why didn’t he run?”

 

Peter gazed at her. “I never asked…”

 

“And since then you’ve cut him out of our lives…he hasn’t visited. I haven’t heard from him or Mozzie. You say you’ve been ...um…pointing out his faults to him…”

 

They sat in silence, again thinking. Peter asked her, humbly, “In that case, why not just run, El? Why give himself up?”

 

“I don’t know. Wanted to put things back the way they were before he meddled…though he has got rid of Dawson for you.”

 

“But - ”

 

“If you are about to say that you don’t want to be indicted and get a fair trial, that’s the first time I’ve heard of it – and that’s what you should tell Neal. Right now, before this goes any further.”

 

“I sort of hoped you might talk to him…”

 

El shook her head. “I could – I will try if he won’t listen to you. But he doesn’t need my acceptance. He already knows he has it. Remember, I was the one who told him to do whatever he could to bring you home. He liked me, Peter – he loved you.”

 

“I think you’re wrong… would have said respect, but then he didn’t respect my values in getting me out with a theft!”

 

“I still don’t get you on this, Peter. Either you want to go back and face a fair trial, and lose your job – what would have happened if Neal hadn’t intervened – or you don’t.

         “Either let’s do nothing, plan what I will do without you for a while, perhaps for the rest of my life – or accept that you do **_not_** want to lose your job, risk your freedom and perhaps your life in a trial where there is a bunch of evidence against you, and you don’t know how many other corrupt officials may be gunning for you.

         “In which case, we need to try and get through to Neal that you may be a smart Special Agent, but that sometimes you’re an idiot, and that you’re a very humble and apologetic idiot at this point!”

 

Peter stared at her. He didn’t know what to say…he knew which way she would vote, and he couldn’t blame her. “You think I should go and talk to Neal?”

 

“Well, Hon, I don’t want to lose you for another day, let alone forever. We know you’re innocent. Neal does, too. I don’t want Neal to go to prison because he did what I asked of him, either! Because of me, not just one but both of the most important men in my life are in prison? How do I live with that?”

 

“Shall I go now?”

 

“Yes, Hon – go **_now_**. Call and take a personal day, or a sick day or something. Wait - I’ll come as backup, but this has got to be your responsibility.”

 

Peter drove, and for the first time in a long time he had a clear purpose: Stop Neal. Explain to Neal. Beg Neal – anything **_not_** to risk losing his job and his freedom and his wife. That life he’d cherished all the time since he met Elizabeth Mitchell and she’d fallen in love with him, against all odds.

 

He parked, and El patted his hand and said, “If you need me, give me a call, Hon. But you’ll see – he’s a good man, he loves you, he just needs to know you – care for him, that you were just angry.”

 

If the situation had been any less dire, Peter would have still baulked. He didn’t mind apologising to El, the aftermath was always fun, but to apologise to _Neal…_

 

He sighed and got out of the car and walked purposefully towards the elegant home. He rang the doorbell and June herself came to the door.

 

“Come to see Neal, Peeter?” she asked, with a smile. “Perhaps you should have called – I don’t think he’s in. But you can go up and look if you like. I took a nap and he may have returned during that time.”

 

“I will, if that’s okay, June.”

 

“Be my guest, Peter. Tell him I’m about to start some stuffed artichoke hearts and garlic turkey we talked about, so not to be late for dinner – and if you’re going to drag him off to do a take down or something, not tonight, Peter, he told me he was off today! We can hardly ever make plans!”

 

Peter had to remember what she was talking about but shook his head. “No, not dragging him anywhere, June. Promise.”

 

“Are you all right, Peeter?”

 

“Yeah. Probably some lack of sleep. Things on my mind. Really need to see Neal.”

 

“If you want to stay for dinner, there’s going to be plenty!”

 

“Thank you, June, no.”

 

“Okay, then – but remind Neal!”

 

Peter walked up the stairs thinking _‘garlic turkey and stuffed asparagus hearts – man’s last meal before prison. June is going to hate me, too.’_

 

He knocked, and when he heard nothing he opened the door and looked in. There were some art-magazines from the library on the table, one open on an article about new oil paints. He walked through the little home Neal had made for himself with June’s loft: Neal was habitually tidy, nothing other than the magazines looked out of place. The closet seemed the same as always, the books were neat in the living area, the bed was made. There was nothing out on the balcony. Apart from his keys and phone and the clothes he had been wearing it didn’t look as though anything was missing or disturbed.

 

Peter checked the bathroom. Toiletries and shaving stuff, all where they usually were.

 

There was food in the refrigerator – including the beer Peter preferred, which made him wince – and a tumbler was sitting in the drying rack on the side of the kitchen sink.

 

Peter had looked round the apartment a hundred times or more, trying to find evidence or even just clues to get to know Neal Caffrey a little better. This looked the same: as though he was out, and would return within a short time – not a criminal consultant on an anklet, a well-dressed, suave, intelligent, handsome young man with his whole life and a million possibilities ahead of him. It may have been a con, but he sold it!

 

Peter took out his cell and called. It went straight to voicemail and Peter said, “Neal, I’m at your place. Please – please, we need to talk. I - ” Peter swallowed. “ – I was wrong. I’ve spoken to El, she made me see some things. Please. Please call me! As soon as you get this!” He had his finger on the disconnect when he put it back to his ear, “Oh – and June wanted me to remind you about dinner.”

 

He waited – Neal often called right back. Nothing. He went down the stairs and made his way to the back, hearing June and someone else talking. She and a maid were in the kitchen, and June had her sleeves rolled up and her dress swathed in a large, ruffled apron and she was breading turkey pieces – a lot of turkey.

 

She became aware of him and said, “Not there?”

 

“No. I left him a message, I really, _really_ need to speak to him as soon as possible, June, it’s urgent. Vital. He knows what it’s about – but I did remind him about dinner.”

 

“If you told him it was important, he’ll call, Peter. He’s been pretty miserable.” Her eyes slid towards the maid and Peter nodded.

 

“Yeah. We quarrelled. I have to put it right.”

 

“That would be wonderful. I’ll tell him when I see him, I’ll get him to call.”

 

“Thank you, June.”

 

Peter walked to the car and explained to El. “Might as well go home. Can’t just wait here for hours. Satchmo will need walking. June says she’ll get him to call.”

 

They went home and ate the food El had bought. The champagne remained unopened. “That’s for when you get Neal to understand and we can share it!” El said, optimistically.

 

They took Satchmo for a walk and ate grilled cheese on toast for an early supper, in case Neal called and they had to rush out. Peter put his phone on charge, and kept checking it. “I should have told him to call you or me, in case.”

 

At eight-thirty, El called June. She put the phone down and told Peter, “Neal let her know he’ll be late, something about a friend in town. He should be there soon.”

 

“He’s avoiding me. Wonder if she’s lying for him? Should I go round?”

 

“No. You definitely shouldn’t. I trust Neal. He’s been a friend, like – like family.”

 

Peter didn’t say anything. Then, “What if he won’t change his mind? I mean, what do we do about you?”

 

“I don’t want to think about the possibility.”

 

“Well, we’d better. You can’t stay here, I don’t make much but you’d have to sell. There’s all the health-care benefits, pension – all that will be gone.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to stay here without you, but aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? Yes, you will be indicted, but you could still beat the conviction, Hon.”

 

“And that can take years in court, with no income. And if I do, I will be unemployed. And people don’t like to hire people arrested for murder, even if they have been proved innocent, in case the court got it wrong.”

 

He heard himself say that, and wondered how he’d been so sure of the system before.

 

“We have some savings, and my folks will help if I’m desperate. Stop talking about it!”

 

“You can’t ask _them!”_

 

“You have no real say, Peter. If I need to, I will. And if – well, I don’t want to have this conversation! Neal will call, he’ll listen to reason.”

 

Peter looked at her, his brown eyes like a wounded dog’s. She was right. He would have no say in her life, he would never be there to talk to, to make decisions with, never be there to protect her. _Please, Neal, Call! Call now!_

 

 

But Neal didn’t call that evening.

 

 

 

 _The worst thing about this is the not-knowing!_ Peter was getting ready for bed, and everything he did, he wondered, _Is this the last time?_

 

He didn’t want to say it to El, but he suddenly blurted out, “How will I live without you? What if this is the last time I sleep in this bed with you? My last night as a free man?”

 

“Don’t be silly, Hon!”

 

“You said Neal would phone!”

 

“Well, something went wrong, that’s all. We’ll go and see him tomorrow morning.”

 

She cuddled up to him and they nestled together. Neither suggested making love. How do you put the next thirty years of love-making into one night? And their relationship, though very healthy sexually, was about far more than that. They both lay awake for a while, then Peter became aware that El had fallen asleep, exhausted, her breathing deep and even.

 

He lay there and went over everything, from the time he’d found Ellen, and told Neal to find out about his father – and found him, only to have him disappear, how furious Neal had been, how he’d nearly smashed his face in at that boxing match…over and over, they’d stepped on each other’s toes, but always come back to a reasonable understanding…except this last time. Somehow this had been more vital to him, and he’d cut Neal out and left him no path to return, no safety rope, no trail of breadcrumbs. **_He’d_** done it. He’d felt justified.

 

 _Don’t you **dare** try to justify this!_    He remembered Neal’s face. Desperate.

 

He also thought about the times they’d laughed, and saved each other, and used their combined talent and expertise to solve a crime, save someone’s life. He found himself smiling, and sighed deeply.

 

He considered how Neal must have felt, waiting for him at Kate’s; here, confessing to taking the painting, waiting for him at June’s after admitting to the gold theft; on that island, when Collins had shot him, betrayed by Macleish. Each time, thinking, “Is this the last time…?” _Just because he was a criminal, I thought that was okay. That he deserved it. He didn’t. No-one deserves to feel like this!_

In the morning he was heavy eyed and his tiredness did nothing to make him feel more optimistic. El watched him, really concerned. He looked old and scared. They didn’t speak much, but dressed, had a hasty breakfast and drove over to Riverside Drive.

 

A manservant, probably the chauffeur from his pants and waistcoat, was sweeping the pavement. He nodded, recognising Peter, and let them in, and a maid went to get June. She appeared, looking very worried.

 

“June, where’s Neal?” Elizabeth asked, without a greeting.

 

“I was just about to call you. He left this,” she said, and handed them a note in Neal’s pretty script:

 

                        ‘Dearest June,

                                    I’m going out this morning to see the museums and galleries I haven’t ________________seen in all these years, and won’t again. Ever. Well, at least for a very long ________________time. I explained all this to Agent Burke, so if he tries to make trouble, just tell ________________him the time he has left depends on not tracking me down. He’ll understand. Tell ________________him to spend it with his wife. I have made up my mind. He may be surprised, but ________________sometimes I know the right thing to do!

______________________I explained my plans to Mozzie. Mozzie is extremely upset with me and   ________________has disappeared – probably left New York…always ready to leave at the drop of a ________________Fedora, Mozzie! I’ll miss him terribly.

______________________I’m so sorry, dear, if my actions bring any trouble upon you. You have been ________________my saving grace and I will love you forever. Please just think of me as the man ________________wearing your husband’s suits, think of me looking at art, revelling in it as I am ________________this morning. Think of me as dead, if that’s easier.

                                   God Bless you, sweet June.’

 

“What does that mean?” Peter asked June, bewildered.

 

“He says here he told you, that you already know.” June’s voice had an angry edge to it.

 

“Wait!” Peter took out his phone and, after flubbing it a couple of times, he found Neal’s tracking data. “He’s _here!”_ he said to El and June, waving the screen at them.

 

June looked a little uncomfortable. “Um – he isn’t. Mozzie cloned that anklet chip a while back. He put the clone – is that what you say? – in Bugsy’s collar. Bugsy hardly ever goes more than two miles from here. Neal could switch it on, and it would override his anklet somehow.”

 

Peter just stared at her. “We have no way of knowing where he is?”

 

“Get his phone tracked, Peter!” El said.

 

“But, Elizabeth,” June started, “I don’t know what this means, this sentence about Peter not tracking him - ?”

 

Peter groaned. “I know what it means. He’s smart, he’s covered his bases. If I approach him…never mind, come, Hon, let’s go home.”

 

El said to June, “Is there any way you have of contacting him? An emergency pager, something, anything.”

 

“My dear, had he wanted you and Peter to have access to such a thing, he would have given it to you. I do not know what is going on, but I trust Neal and if I did have a pager number I would keep it to myself. I think you should leave.”

 

For a millisecond, Peter thought about using the fact that she was definitely aiding a felon – or her dog was – but immediately quashed that idea. Bad enough having Neal furious at him. Mozzie was far more dangerous, and there were some rumours that June had some protectors from the Byron days…no. Enough. He didn’t want to hurt June, anyway.

 

Once they were in the car, El said, “There must be something we can do!”

 

“All Neal has to do is see us approaching, and press the emergency 911 on his cell. Or yell ‘police’ at the top of his voice. He’s won. He’s going to get what he wanted.”

 

They rode in silence for a while, then Peter queried, thoughtfully, “I wonder how long he’s been able to come and go as he pleased?”

 

“And, like at Kate’s, he stayed.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“He said he’d give you 24 hours? When does that expire?”

 

Peter looked at his watch. “I’m not exactly sure…three, three-and-a-half hours from now?”

 

“Perhaps he’ll lose track of time, immersed in his beloved art.”

 

“I wish it would just be over.”

 

“You can go and give yourself up, you know!” El snapped, over-wrought.

 

“No – I want to be with you till the last second, Hon, but – the waiting is dreadful.”

 

They picked up a pizza and some beers and sat eating it, not knowing what to say.

 

 _Neal eats garlic turkey and stuffed artichoke hearts, created with love by the hand of the doyenne of jazz and blues, served with the best white wine money can buy, I’ll bet,_ thought Peter, smiling a little. _My last meal is pizza, probably made and frozen in China and reheated by a spotty teenager with disinterest - and beer. And to me, this pizza tastes like cardboard! Bet he enjoyed every mouthful of his repast. Story of our lives, in a meal._

After that they sat on the couch, El’s feet up, cuddled as close as possible. They knew they loved each other, and there didn’t seem anything else to say. Eventually, Peter fell asleep, his neck twisted awkwardly so that he would waken in pain, trying to keep El comfortable. He dreamed that thousands of birthday and Christmas cards and origami flowers were raining down on him, and he could hear Neal laughing as he never did in real life.

 

 

 

End of Chapter 2


	3. Be careful to get what you wish for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow up, as requested. Mozzie joins in.

 

 

Neal pulled himself out of the water and sat, droplets sparking on his shoulders, looking over the bay. He smiled, remembering the shoals of tiny fishes that had joined him on his swim, glittering like silver, fluttering against him and tickling him! Then he thought about the paintings he had started, planning the next steps. It was nice to sell his own work, to find that others were actually prepared to pay, they appreciated it that much - and very pleasant not to _have_ to.

 

Later, when he’d walked down the beach where the fishing boats pulled in after the man on the peak of the mountain waved his flags and let them know where there were fish to be netted, and was returning to the little house with the makings of dinner, he heard music and shook his head fondly.

 

Mozzie, as usual, had helped himself to some wine, made a salad with a yoghurt and olive-oil and herb dressing, and was quite at home.

 

“Letters,” Moz said, not bothering with a more formal greeting, as Neal joined him and got used to the shade.

 

“June?”

 

“June and Diana.” Mozzie looked triumphant at surprising Neal.

 

_“Diana!”_

“Well, June encrypted them for her. Sent them with hers.”

 

Neal stowed his ‘catch’, took a bowl of salad and a fork and sat opposite his oldest friend, while Mozzie poured him a glass of white. “I hope,” he said, round a mouthful of arugula, “that doesn’t mean Diana is coming after us?”

 

“It does not. I took the liberty of decoding all of them. Here’s the copies of the results. June just says, as usual, that she loves us and misses us and she and New York will wait like the gracious ladies both of them are till we return.”

 

“So Di _did_ get White Collar?” Neal said, hopefully.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Great! Good for you, fierce lady Di! So Burke’s there with her, or…”

 

“She wrote to me in greater detail than you…want to know what happened after you confronted him?”

 

Neal sat back and made a face. “That was mean, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah!” Mozzie grinned sideways. “I wish – I wish so very hard – that you’d had a button-cam! Oh, to have seen his face…!”

 

“Yeah, stunned. If I ever could bring myself to waste the time, I could draw that – his face, hearing that his wishes had come true, his face, seeing that I’d found another place for the same price…!”

 

“The same face?”

 

“Same basic expression. First one in the time line, more furious-and-horrified. Later one more horrified-with-dawning-panic. Like his soul drained out of his face, leaving a shell. Dreadful realisation for him. I _almost_ felt sorry for him.

         “One less ‘You’re a criminal, that’s all you’ll ever be’, and I might have retracted, given him an 'out'!”

 

“He didn’t beg?”

 

“I didn’t give him time. I got out of there. Let him stew. From the look of him, I don’t think he could have gathered enough breath to have spoken for a while, though! Punch to the heart. His worm finally turned.”

 

“You could do some cartoons, at least. That mouth is made for cartoons! And he faced what he wanted _you_ to face: prison, and years earlier that Motel. He was always threatening to throw _you_ back in prison. Nice reversal of power!”

 

“I don’t care that much. Waste of a sheet of paper.”

 

“Yeah, but you can _remember_ how he looked! I never saw it!” Mozzie was aggrieved.

 

“Tell me what Diana said.”

 

“Well, she wasn’t at the Bureau when we left, remember – oh, lots of news about her little boy! Same in your letter from her, you can read that! – and when she got back from maternity leave, the Suit had gone.”

 

“What? What do you mean, gone? To D.C.?”

 

“Gone, as in gone. Had taken a long leave of absence citing health reasons. So she went to his house and, when she insisted and gave him assurances of confidentiality...hah! con - fed - end-tiality!... he told her what had happened with you.”

 

“Wow! Well – _I’d_ trust Diana, I think. She danced the line for me! Surprised Peter risked it – mind you, guess he could always say he was suffering from PTSD after the jail-time, not responsible for the fantasies in his head…yeah, I could sell that.”

 

“He is not you! In any way! Apparently Diana told him he was an idiot to have treated you that badly when all you were trying to do was the best _you_ knew to keep him from going to prison. Nothing else had come up for him from their desperate investigations. She says she was very scared that he would be sentenced, the evidence was circumstantial but very strong. And she hints that she knew about some of the corruption.”

 

“Good old Di!” Neal smiled broadly, and drank some of the wine, leaning back comfortably. “Problem with long distance relationships: wish I could give her a hug!”

 

“And now he’s basically working with El, and trying to find a business for himself. Doing research on security firms, or consulting, what have you. Sounds like he's drifting.”

 

“Why’d he leave?”

 

“Diana says she thinks it was because he couldn’t reconcile being free, a LEO, and what you did.”

 

“The man has problems. But he didn’t turn himself in, obviously!”

 

“Obviously. Not _that_ addicted to what’s right and legal that he risks being in the same cell he put you in!” Mozzie’s voice had an edge to it.

 

Neal found he really didn’t care about what happened to Burke. _Let the dead past bury its dead. I discarded that dream, it has no colour, depth or texture now._ “Did she mention Jones?”

 

“He moved on to another division, she doesn’t mention which. She does say she has a great young team of agents she’s working with. She also says she misses you – and me! Isn’t that something!”

 

Neal smiled at his friend. Mozzie pretended not to care what others thought about him....

 

“I wonder,” Mozzie went on, “how long it took him to realise you weren’t going to turn yourself in?”

 

Neal said nothing, considering the way the water-reflections, like over-lapping nets of light, shifted over the ceiling and pondering how he could use the effect.

 

“I bet he suffered, and then found you’d duped him. Well, you said you were a sociopath. Sociopaths lie! Surprise!” Mozzie studied Neal for a moment. “He really hurt you didn’t he? You’ve never said…we were so busy leaving and then…well, other things….”

 

Neal shrugged. “Sociopaths don’t get hurt…they get mad. They get even.”

 

“Not even close, Neal! Not even close!”

 

Neal laughed. Then he said, “Funny, trying to think back on that time. So much pressure and stress, and here we are now, the blue water, the laid-back, friendly people, you and me, no worries.”

 

“Regrets – other than June?”

 

“Oh, love bits of New York, you know? But other than those, and June, and perhaps Diana and Theo….”

 

“Wonder what happened to Hagen. Diana doesn’t mention him. I’ll ask, when I reply.

         “And what happened to that leggy red-head?”

 

“Rebecca. Yeah, she was way too sweet and innocent to be dating a sociopath!”

 

“And now you've got that brunette...

........."You’re not serious, are you?”

 

“There’re times, Moz – you aren’t worried about trusting me?”

 

Mozzie poured them both some wine, and patted Neal’s hand as he handed him his glass. “I remember you sobbing with grief for Kate, Neal. I remember you giving up the treasure for El. I remember tears in your eyes when we left June. None of those were in furtherance of a con. You are charming and smart and you _can_ fool almost anyone – but you can’t fool me into thinking you only care about yourself.”

 

 

They sat without words for perhaps half-an-hour, then Mozzie leaned forward and said, “The new numbered account has topped fifty-thousand.”

 

“My paintings?” Neal’s face lit up as though the sun had come out on a dull day.

 

“Yeah. I’m upping the prices! People are beginning to know you. I’m also investing all that in another off-shore company we control through intermediaries, closing that account and starting another. Just to keep you up to date.”

 

Neal said, bashfully, “You probably think I’m a little silly, getting excited about a few hundreds or even thousands here or there, when you, all on your own, stole billions!”

 

Mozzie smiled at him. “Neal, _Neal!_ It’s _never_ about the money!”

 

 

 

 

 

The End of Chapter 3...I think the End of the fic!

 

 

Loved the comments, was fun!

 

 


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